


Never Black and White

by maryfic



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dawn is eighteen. Spike's POV.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Never Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Dawn is eighteen. Spike's POV.

You'll notice, that as you go through life, especially one that is and will continue to be as long as mine has been, that things are never black and white. Occasionally gray, but sometimes filled with the brilliant colors that one only has a few chances to see and admire. Like when I look at Dawn.

No longer an awkward teenager, she has definitely come into her own as the last of the Summers' women, unless Buffy's dad has remarried, which I prefer not to think about. Because if I do, I will remember the sad look on Joyce's face while she talked about the past, and made me hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows, and I will want to go kill the slimy bastard.

But enough about the past, I am looking forward to the future, of which I hope Dawn will have a long one. But the odds are definitely against her, but with me on her side I am hoping whatever they send after her will fail every time.

A month ago, she was called as the Slayer. The dreams began, as they'd had with her sister, and her aunt before that. Dawn and Buffy came from a long line of Slayers, though I suspect they didn't know, and the Watcher didn't either, seeing as how he never informed Buffy.

But then again, maybe he did. I've always wondered whether his vested interest in her was strictly watcherly, and that fact may point towards another opinion. But I wasn't talking about Buffy and Giles, nor what relationship they might have had.

I was expounding on the wonders of Dawn. I remember my last sunrise, you know. Not like in those trashy Anne Rice novels, where she tries to describe it using words. It could never be described using the baseness of speech.

Broken down, maybe. But the essence of it, knowing that you will never again see the richness of color, the splendor of the clouds..... *sighs*

I thought I'd never see it again. But I've found it, in her. And I think I am finally learning, that nothing is ever truly in black and white.

THE END.


End file.
